


Hellblazer: It Won't Cost You Much

by thesolaralchemist



Category: Constantine (Comic), Hellblazer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolaralchemist/pseuds/thesolaralchemist





	Hellblazer: It Won't Cost You Much

Hellblazer: It Won’t Cost You Much  
By Dustin Denley  
Will Begley was a good man. He’d gotten decent grades, been a hard worker, a good husband, and a loving Father. His daughter, Emily, was the light in his life. After losing his wife two and a half years ago, she’d become the reason he got up in the mornings. But now…now it looked like he’d lose her too. They’d discovered the bone cancer eight months ago, and things had steadily gotten worse since. Before, if he’d gone to see her at this time of night, he’d have had to go to her room, which was pink and smelled of glitter. Now, he stood over her in a hospital room, which was white and smelled of disinfectant. She didn’t even have her brown curls anymore… Will was pulled from his thoughts when a doctor entered. He didn’t recognize him, though. “Uh, yes?”, Will said to the dark haired man. “Yes, Mr. Begley, I’m here to offer you a treatment that could save your daughter’s life.”, the doctor explained. Will’s heart skipped a beat. “Go on.”, Will replied. “It’s a ‘bit radical, but it will definitely save her life.”, the doctor told him. “Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it.”, Will replied immediately. If anything could save his girl’s life, he wasn’t about to skip out on it because of money. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Begley, it won’t cost you much.”, the doctor grinned.

Months Later and Hundreds Of Miles Away…

John Constantine had not been having the best of weeks. On Monday, a friend in Louisiana called claiming a werewolf had been giving his town trouble. By Tuesday, he couldn’t understand a bloody word anyone said, and was staying in a cheap motel room. By Wednesday, he was having his friend translate what witnesses said because he didn’t speak inbred hick. By Thursday, he was in swamps, at the dead of night, looking for anything that wanted to bite his heart out. Bye Friday, he’d found out it was actually a shape shifter, and you know what a pain in the ass those guys are. By Saturday, he’d found out it was an entire bloody cult of the bastards. By Sunday, he was on a plane back to Liverpool, England. You’d think after such a long week it’d be nice to go home, but even that was rubbish. A downpour greeted him, leaving his shoes squeaky, his trench coat dampened, and his blonde hair a wet mess. Thirty two years he’d been alive, and his bad luck STILL astounded him sometimes. He made his way down the sidewalk, car’s zooming by, honking, and slinging water everywhere by him. He walked up the stone steps, and opened the door to the apartment building. The land lady wasn’t there to greet him upon his entry which he was thankful for. He made his way up the creaky stairs to his apartment. “Bloody rain. Bloody shifters. Bloody London.”, he mumbled, frustration over dealing with the past week in his voice. He fumbled through his keys, and opened the door. The familiar air of the apartment was nice to take in. It wasn’t much, but it was home. He took his coat off, and sighed down into his arm chair. John pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long, satisfying drag from the cancer stick. He dug in his pocket for his phone, and turned it on. He noticed that he’d been left a message. He put it on speaker phone, and got up to make some food. “Hey, John, it’s me, Jerry Blake. Remember me?”, the message played. “I remember the girl you set me up with wanting to drink my blood.”, John replied to the recording, putting some bacon on. “Well, I’ve been here in Manchester for the past two months.”, the message continued. “Good for you, Mate.”, John said, grilling bread for his bacon. “And, John, there’ve been some weird things goin’ on here, people losin’ their minds n’ killin’ themselves. I was hopin’ you could come down here, n’ help me figure out what’s goin’ on.”, the message finished. “Nope.”, John said as he sat down in his chair, and took a bite of his sandwich. “’M not headin’ out,”, he paused to take a swig of his coke, “, right after I got my bloody arse home.”, he finished, sure of his decision. “I’m not doin’ it.”, he repeated, taking another bite of his sandwich. After finishing his food, John was on his way to Manchester.

He called his friend, who said that he’d meet John up at a local bar. When John’s taxi got him to Manchester, it was still raining cats and dogs. ‘Course it’s still raining. God knows it wouldn’t be England if the weather wasn’t utter shit.’, he thought to himself as he exited the vehicle, paid the cabbie, and flicked the fag he’d been smoking into the soggy streets.. John made his way down the sidewalk to the bar, suitcase in hand. The place stunk of tobacco and booze. The light bulbs cast a sickly yellow over the pool tables. The whole bar seemed to turn, and look at John. Maybe it was because they’d never seen the man in the soggy trench coat and equally soggy dress shirt, tie, and pants with shaggy blonde hair, or maybe it was because they could tell something was off about him. ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’, John thought as he made his way to Jerry’s stool at the end of the bar. Jerry was the kind of guy that was hard to miss. He had neck length brown hair, a handle barred mustache, and a fondness for trucker hats and plaid. “’Ey, John! Been too long, mate. Wish we was only seein’ each other again fer a few drinks.”, Jerry greeted John. Jerry ordered another beer for John, and John sat down on the stool next to Jerry’s. “Yeah, Jerry, I’ve found that I only ever see my friends when there’s a bloody monster running around.”, John replied. “So what’s going on now?”, John asked him while the bar tender brought him his beer. “Well, Since I moved here people been gettin’ hauled off t’ the looney bin, n’ offin’ themselves left n’ right. I know stuff like this ‘appens in th’ big city, so I asked if it was just the way Manchester was. Anyone I asked said it started about six months ago.”, Jerry explained to John. Both men were quiet for a moment, the ‘kliks’ and ‘klaks’ of the pool balls echoing throughout the bar. “It could be a witch.”, John suggested. “I thought so to, but none of the victims know each other.”, Jerry explained, taking a swig of his beer. “you’ve got a list a victims?”, John asked, raising an eyebrow. “Suicides were in th’ newspapers, and after a little diggin’, I found out ‘bout the head cases.”, Jerry told him. “Send me the list of mental patients and suicides, and I’ll call you with the hole I’ll be staying in. Tomorrow, around eight, I need you to take me to the hospital the mental patients are in. We’re going to be doing some digging.”, John said, standing to leave. “Sure ya’ don’t wanna’ play a little pool ‘fore you go, John?”, Jerry asked John, who was picking his suitcase up. “What I want is to be in my home in Liverpool, not cleaning your wallet out, Jerry.”, He called back. 

The smell of moist air and wet concrete are a welcome reprieve from the bar’s smell. John lit another cigarette, walked out into the downpour, and attempted to hail a taxi. After a few rain soaked minutes, a cab pulled over. John happily made his way into the back seat of the car. “Where to, mate?”, the driver asked him. “Cheapest motel you about.”, John replied. As the car began to move, the cabbie said, “Nice way o’ saying the shittiest motel I know about.” John smiled at his fellow cynic’s joke. He ended up staying at “The Cards Inn”. His room’s rug had one of those awful patterns only hotels have access to. The room had the usual smell of a place where people constantly came and went. John took his coat off, and fished his laptop out of his suitcase. Sure enough, Jerry had sent him the lists he’d asked for. John lit a new cigarette, and began to peruse the lists. After a few good hours of diggings, John saw that they all had family in the hospital, all relatives in said hospital being terminal. Did one of the doctors get kicks off of driving people nuts and making them killing themselves? Voodoo perhaps? John doubted it. A third of the suicides had been patients at the mental hospital, and voodoo didn’t work real well on the mentally insane. Hard to order a mind to something when it couldn’t make itself do anything. John took a long drag of his cigarette deciding to hold off on any theories until he’d spoken to the patients. He decided to catch Graham Norton, and fell asleep during the program.

John woke up around 7:15 the next morning. After a quick shower, John grabbed his driver’s license, and used a trick Zatanna’d taught him to charm it so it would appear to be whatever identification he needed it to be. He slipped it in his wallet, which in turn went in his trench coat, and hat a breakfast of coffee, vending machine donuts, and a cigarette. Jerry showed up around 8:15. Jerry had decided since they’d be trying to convince the staff of a hospital that they were there to see patients not to where the plaid/trucker hat combo that he loved so much, opting for a black suit instead. “’Ey, John, how ya’ feelin’?”, Jerry greeted him as John got into Jerry’s truck. “Like I’m about to spend the day chatting with crazy people.”, John replied. On the way, John gave Jerry a charmed card of his own. Skaia’s Home for The Mentally Troubled was a pretty big hospital, or at least it was bigger than the ones John had been to. Jerry parked his truck, and the duo made their way inside. The place had a very relaxing atmosphere with its soothing colors on everything. John found the place be especially nice after looking at that motel room the entire night. Obviously, this was all to help the patients feel at ease, and, perhaps, for the doctors to feel at ease too. John decided that he’d be the one to talk to the staff seeing as John thought Jerry looked too much like he was one of the patients, fancy dress aside. “Yes?”, the woman with curly blonde hair and glasses behind the desk greeted them. “’Lo, love, me and my partner are here to interview some of your patients sow we can properly evaluate your methods.”, John replied, flashing his license. Jerry flashed his as well, and she was off to see the head doctor. After a few more conversations, most of which consisted of John bullshitting people, they were allowed to visit with whoever they pleased. 

Their first destination was the room of one Edgar Hughes. Edgar was a balding fellow of about forty three, and he seemed to be very tired and fidgety. “Hello, Edgar, my name’s John, and this is my partner, Jerry.”, John greeted Edgar, sitting on the bed across from him.” “P-Pleasure to, uh, meet ya’.”, Edgar greeted them, flashing a nervous grin. “Tell me, Edgar, why’re you here?”, John asked, trying to cut to the heart of the matter as carefully as possible. “Uh, well…this’ll sound silly, but I’m here for nightmares.”, Edgar explained. “What kind of nightmares?”, John raised an eyebrow. “They’re…”, he stopped, looking to be on the verge of tears, “They’re terrible things. There’s-There’s monsters, and blood, and screaming, and the heat-oh God the heat! People turned inside out and still alive!”, he said, the tears beginning to fall. “And-And now, I’m startin’ to have them when I’m awake! Anytime I close my eyes!”, he cried, and John moved in to comfort him. John knew the place he was talking about. He’d been there a few times himself. ‘Hell’, John thought. John managed to calm Edgar down. WELL, as calm as one can be in a mental institution with visions of Hell dancing like sugar plumbs in their head. John asked him, “When did all this start?” Edgar looked a little embarrassed before he explained, knowing just how crazy he’d sound. “Three weeks ago. When I met a man. He….He said he could help my wife in the hospital. She’s terminal, y’see, and he said he could fix it for….”, Edgar stopped, but John knew what he’d done. “Alright, Edgar, I think we know enough, and we’ve gotta see some other blokes. I’m glad you’ll get help here, Edgar.”, John said, interrupting Edgar. He really did want him to get help, and didn’t want him to relive any more than he had to.

After this, John and Jerry made their way through the list. They met an old wife, a middle-aged father, a soccer mom, and a goth girl who reminded John of himself at 17. The two left the building around 5:28, an orderly who’d been following them falling back. “This is weird, John, and that says a lot ‘siderin’ our jobs”, Jerry commented as they exited the building. The sky was ablaze with yellows, oranges, and pinks when they got outside, and the leaves were explosions of color. It made it look like their colors were bleeding off into the sky. “Nothin’ weird about it, mate. Just a demon collecting souls, nothin’ new there. He just found a market of prime candidates willing to happily trade their souls away: Good people dealt a shit hand.”, John replied.

They got in Jerry’s truck, it sputtering to life as Jerry turned the ignition. “Yer right, John, you’d be able ta’ make a killin’ like that!”, Jerry agreed. “Nah, but see, this demons been cheating his contracts. He’s been takin’ their souls before they’re dead. So that way they can soak up the view while they sleep, and eventually even when they’re awake. They either kill themselves or go nuts and then kill themselves. It’d be impressive if it didn’t make me wanna’ bloody puke.”, John continued. “What’re we gonna do, then? An’ ‘nother thing, demons can’t take souls ‘froe their contracts let ‘em, so how’s he takin’ ‘em?, Jerry asked. John lit a cigarette, and took a long drag, the smoke looking like the hands of phantoms trying to escape. “You’re right, they can’t. All that means, though, is he’s got some shitty excuse for a human being helping him out. And all we gotta do is expose the demon’s fraud and the souls he’s claimed should be set free.”, John explained. Jerry’s car came to a stop at a red light. The two of them were about a two blocks off from John’s motel. “’N just how do we expose ‘em?”, Jerry asked, a trace of worry in his voice. John shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “Go to Hell, find where he’s keeping them, and read the demon’s name aloud.”, he replied. “Hell?!? John, I knew ye’ were nuts, but-“, Jerry was cut off by John getting out of the truck. John poked his head in the window. “It’s been real, Jer, but this is my stop. Tah, remember to write.”, John said, leaving Jerry with his jaw on the floor.

Black clouds had begun to overtake the sky by the time John had gotten out of the truck, looking like the black cast iron bars with a blazing fire peeking through the gaps in the grate. It had rained yesterday, but rain could still be smelt in the air and on the asphalt of the city. John had gotten out because he didn’t want to have to expose Jerry to Hell seeing as he liked Jerry, but he also got out this soon because John secretly loved this weather. Something about the smell of the air and the lighting, he guessed. He was walking under a street life that had just sparked to life when a voice behind him spoke out. “John Constanteen.”, it said. John turned around to see the orderly from the hospital. He had glasses, dark hair, and a cocky grin. “Actually, mate, it’s pronounced Constan-TINE. It rhymes with line. Don’t feel bad, though, we all make mistakes. Right, mate?”, John replied, well aware of the man’s intent. “Even demons.”, John smirked. “You should really learn to keep your nose where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Constantine.”, the orderly replied. “Sorry, mate, I just can’t stop. Y’know what they say, addiction’s a powerful thing and all that.”, John said, readying himself for the part that came next. 

“Have it your way, then.”, the orderly grinned. His body began to convulse, his fingers elongating to match his expanding hand. His spine ‘kriked’ and ‘kraked’ as it broke and reassembled itself. His shoulders popped out of socket, and his teeth became razor sharp. His nose became small, and upturned. His ears began to point, and horns ripped their way through the skin on his forehead. His pupils slitted, and his skin became a muddy red. “pRePAre tO diE AT tHe haNDs of ZaRAtHoS!”, the demon yelled out. “Does someone need a hug?”, John asked, opening his arms up. 

Zarathos charged at him, a flurry of unnaturally long arms and claws. John managed to avoid each swing, barely though, and heard the cracking of brick and denting of trash cans behind him. John let him back him to a wall. “C’mon, mate, quit foolin’ around, and actually try to fight me.”, John said. Zarathos had the reaction that John had wanting, the demon putting all its force in a lunge for John. John moved out of the way, wrapping his arms around the demon’s neck from behind. It stood, at this point around seven feet tall, and John felt his feet come off the ground. It was all snarls and hissing. “C’mon, mate, y’need to lighten up. Here ‘ave a drink!”, John said, pulling a small bottle from his coat and flicking the cap off. He shoved his hand in Zarathos’ mouth, waiting until the creature bit down hard enough to pierce the metal of the bottle. John’s hand was cut to bloody ribbons, but the bottle was stuck there. The holy water inside stung and burned the creatures insides like acid. It slung John off, gagging in pain. 

John landed gracefully on his ass, his bloodied hand hanging limply at his side. “What’s wrong? Got a tooth ache?”, John asked, smirking maliciously. It howled in pain in response. “Been there, mate. Here, let me read you a story like my Mum used to when I’d get one.”, he replied, digging in his jacket. He pulled out a bible he’d stolen from a motel. “And Solomon the son of David was strengthened, and the Lord his God was with him, and magnified him exceedingly. Then Solomon spake unto all Israel, to the captains of thousands and of hundreds, and to the judges, and to every governor in all of Israel, the chief of the fathers.”, John read from a random page he opened up to. Zarathos wailed even louder, his deformed ears actually bleeding. “Come on, I know it’s borin’, but it’s good for you. ‘Least that’s what my Mum used to say when I’d bitch to her about gettin’ up for church.”, John replied. Zarathos screamed a series of expletives at John. “I’ll keep reading unless you leave that man’s body. We both know it hurts too bad to move once I start if you decide to not listen to me.”, John told him. “I WILL EAT YOUR FLESH, AND I WILL FUCK YOUR MOTHER’S CORPSE, JOHN CONSTANTINE!!!!”, Zarathos offered in response. “So Solomon, and all the congregation with him, went to the high place that was at Gibeon: for there was the terbenacle of the congreg-“, John was stopped when smoke began to leak out of the orifices on Zarathos’ “body”. When the smoke had gone, there lay the orderly, his clothes torn due to the modifications Zarathos had given it while he was using it. 

John reached in the orderly’s pants, and pulled out his wallet. It told him his name was Max and he lived in White Hills Apartments. He put the kids wallet back, and picked him up bridal style. John hailed a cab, and told the cabby his friend had had a hard night and to take him home. John felt bad for the kid, he’d be sore and confused whenever he woke up. 

John returned to his motel room, closing the door behind him with his foot. He dug in his suitcase for some gauze to wrap his hand in. After some shitty first-aid, John decided he didn’t want to put this off any longer than he had to. He took his coat off, not wanting to sweat to death while he was away. He loosened his tie around his neck, and grabbed a knife. He cut his finger, and began to draw on the wall. It took a few minutes, but he had the circle carved, all the right symbols in all the right places. He flicked his lighter on, and brought it to the circle. Any other time, the blood wouldn’t have reacted and John would have looked fucking stupid, but since he hadn’t fucked up anywhere along the way, it sparked to life in flame. The fire seemed to spread inside the circle, with a being beginning to crawl out of it. Before him stood red skinned twenty year old with pulled back black hair, and horns coming out of his head in a white suit. “Aw, goddammit, what do YOU want, Constantine?”, he asked of our protagonist. “Aw, come on, Zeke, that’s no way to greet an old friend.”, John replied. “It is when you promise to get into heaven, and fuck me over with no one ever showing up.”, Zeke replied, agitation in his voice. “There’s a lot of legal stuff involved there, Zeke, and I told you that I didn’t know if it would work. Last I checked, they were still tryin’ to get you in.”, John replied, just wanting him to calm down. “Fine, just tell what the fuck you want.”, Zeke said, dropping the matter. “I need you to take me down stairs. There’s a demon cheating his contracts, and taking people down before they die so they’ll have nightmares so horrible they kill themselves and get the souls early.”, John explained to him. “How the Hell is he doing that?”, Zeke asked him. “He’s got a human friend, and I plan on using a spell to trace his friend in Hell so I can find where he’s keeping the souls.”, John explained. “Tt, fine.”, Zeke sighed, snapping his fingers.

Suddenly John was no longer in the hell that was cheap motel rooms, but a place much easier to put up with, real Hell. Well, not quite the real Hell everyone thought off when they talked about Hell. The pit where everyone spent their eternities for being assholes was what they were usually talking about. The place John was away from that pit, a little above it. It was a city where demons who didn’t take the time to torture souls and those who knew the right people to get out of the pit called home. The place looked like a slum, and the heat was unbearable. The sky was blood red with black clouds. The street lights gave off a green color that always made John want to puke if he looked at it long enough. It smelled of rotten eggs and spoiled milk. Yeah, way better than the motel room, John decided. “Alright, John, where do we find this guy you told me about?”, Zeke asked him, looking away from the place he so desperately wanted to leave. “Hold on, mate.”, John said, squeezing blood out of his finger into the palm of his bandaged hand. “dnif rehtona ekil em.”, John said into the hand. The blood started to move in a direction in his hand. “Alright, follow me.”, John said to Zeke. They followed John’s makeshift compass for thirty minutes. They ran by some horrible things, and a few body ridden allies, but they eventually came to an empty lot. Well, it probably would have been empty if it weren’t for the cages full of people screaming and crying in it. John’s eyes went wide. These were the souls, alright, but this was way more than any demon could gather by themselves. There had to be a group of them working together. All over, in places like the hospital in Manchester. “Goddammit.”, John said under his breath. He had no idea what he was going to do. He only knew one of the demons’ names, and there were hundreds of cages in front of him, each cage holding a dozen people screaming and crying for help, for him to help. He looked at his hand to see the blood moving still. He started following it, deciding that he would beat ever single name out of whoever was helping these demons, no matter how many there were helping them. But, what John and Zeke found wasn’t at all what they’d expected. Huddled against a wall away from the cages, was the skinny, beaten form of Will Begley. His clothes were in tatters, and he was curled in on himself. John and Zeke approached slowly. “Hey.”, John said, trying to get Will’s attention. Will looked up, his eyes tired and his cheeks sunken in. “W-What do you want me to do now?”, he said, looking like he would cry. John bent down next to Will. “We don’t want to make you do anything, mate. What’s your name?.”, John asked. “Will, m’name’s Will Begley. The bastard told me he’d save my daughter if I agreed to give him my soul. I didn’t believe him, and even if he was tellin’ the truth and I did end up here, she’d at least be safe. But he drug me down here, and made me pull those…those cages here.”, Will said full of rage, tears running down his face. “I know how to get these people out, and the bastards who put ‘em here in the pit. Problem is I need their names, but all I have is one of them.”, John explained. Will’s eyes seemed to fill with fire. “Names, you only need names?”, Will asked. “Yeah, I say their names, and these cages break apart, watch. Zarathos.”, John said. Three cages turned to ash, with the people inside becoming blue flame and ascending upwards. Will stood, shaky, and looked at the cages. “They may’ve been to pull down here with all the monsters, but they can’t make me one. Apihsalut . Rahuhon. Tamazusb. Tureh. Ranael. Sorhenoniel. Mraohepael Zamotuzael. Xopehamaniel. Anodotn. Osnetoas. Anlasap. Mason Abhpot. Tothunbamon Esazason. Ohaerz. Atsoh. Zomasac. Hesamaniel.”, Will spoke aloud, all of the cages turning to ash. A flurry of blue flame surrounded the three of them. John couldn’t help but note how the souls seemed to carry a refreshing breeze with them. Zeke noted it as well, his face growing depressed at the fact that he would be coming back to this place once they were done. Will sank back to the wall, and curled into a ball once more. “I may be stuck here forever, but at least I know my daughter wouldn’t be ashamed of me if she knew what I’ve done.”, he said. John gave him a look. He turned back to Zeke, and Zeke understood, snapping his fingers and taking him back to his motel room.

“Thanks, Zeke.”, he said to the demon once they’d returned. “Yeah, no problem, but don’t think I’m sticking around to help you with that wall.”, the demon responded, smirking. With that, John was alone with himself and the aforementioned wall. John cleaned the wall, but his mind didn’t leave the form of Will Begley. He had looked so beaten, so defeated, but he had a strength that John admired. Once John was done, he found himself once again making a circle on the wall, but this time he only had to use some oils. He spoke the words, and they were lit ablaze. John was blinded momentarily, but soon he relaxed to see the figure before him. It was a young man in a suit with wings on his back. He had a serious expression and tone when he spoke. “What is it, Constatine?”, he asked. “I need you to do me a favor, mate.”, John replied, his tone as serious. “John, I’ve explained to you that, while I sympathize with Zeke’s case, there’s all sorts of laws I have to deal with before I can get him into heaven.”, he said before John could explain. “Nah, mate, I need you to pull someone out, but it’ll be easier ta’ get done than pullin’ a demon out.”, John replied.

Hours had passed, and Will Begley had not uncurled since John and Zeke had left. He assumed that he would be left here now that the demon he’d made a contract with had been sent to the pit. He was okay with this, though. He would accept staying here even after he was dead. He wouldn’t get cast down there, so he could just stay here, against this wall for all eternity. He’d saved his daughter, and his dignity. That was enough to make him content. He was surprised, though, when he felt a refreshing breeze on his skin, and a bright light against his eye lids. He felt tears in his eyes when he looked up. He saw his wife standing there, beautiful than she’d ever been before, smiling at him. “K-Karen…”, he managed to get out, standing to face her. “Will.”, she smiled. Her arms were open, and Will took security in them. In that moment, Will Begley’s body died. It was left behind as he went away with his wife.

John Constantine was able to smile to himself as he entered his apartment. He felt genuinely good about himself as he made himself a sandwich, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He sat down contently in his chair as he took a bite of his sandwich. His phone rang out that he’d received a text. He opened it, and brought the message up. “Hey, John, it’s me, Kathy, and I need your help. Please call.”, it read simply. “Oh bollocks.”, John sighed.

The End.


End file.
